


The Wake Up

by CourtingDisaster



Series: Modern AUs [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne is Oblivious, Cersei is a Westerling, F/M, Jaime is lovestruck, No Twincest, Pining, Tyrion is delightful as always, While You Were Sleeping AU, bed sharing, fake engagement, not a Lannister, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingDisaster/pseuds/CourtingDisaster
Summary: A "While You Were Sleeping" inspired AU, featuring my favorite tropes of all: a fake engagement and bed-sharing. When Brienne ends up in a coma, Jaime has to lie and say they're engaged in order to stay in the hospital with her. By the time Brienne wakes up, all of Westeros thinks she and Jaime are betrothed, and he is begging her to keep up the pretense for just a little longer...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just a couple: in this story, Cersei IS NOT a Lannister. She's a Westerling. I didn't want to deal with twincest at all, so I just put her in a different family entirely.
> 
> Also, this story is definitely inspired by "While You Were Sleeping," and at times will feature very similar situations to the movie, but it diverges a lot too. I hope you enjoy it! After season 8 I needed something a little more light-hearted, and so I filled this with all my favorite romantic tropes. <3

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Brienne asked Jaime as he laced up his trainers. They were standing in her gym in the financial district of King’s Landing, about to go on their normal run before a light spar in one of the gym’s empty rings, but today was going to be different. Today the biggest wedding of the season had been announced via every major media outlet in Westeros, and the bride was Jaime’s beautiful ex-fiancée. The ex-fiancée that, if the rumors were to be believed (rumors that Brienne thought were disgusting, since she knew the truth), Jaime had tried to kill when she’d broken off their engagement.

The wedding announcement was going to bring all that unpleasantness back to the forefront of everyone’s minds, and Jaime would no doubt be the target of more click-baiting venom in the days to come. Yet he’d still arrived at her gym just as he did three times every week, ready to venture out into the city with a sort of vicious carelessness she knew had to be a mask for his true feelings. She marveled at his bravery even as she questioned the wisdom of this particular course of action.

“It’ll be fine. I can’t hide in my house forever. Let them shout and stare and take pictures. All they’ll see is me getting on with my life,” he told her.

Brienne frowned. “They’ll see me, too. And they might think—”

Jaime flashed her a cutting grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Would that be so bad? The world thinking you’re with me?”

She huffed a little, wondering why he insisted on misunderstanding her. “The world doesn’t know me, Jaime. But they think they know _you_ , and they’ll…well, you know the type of vitriol they’ll print if they think you’re slumming it with me.”

Jaime reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. “Trust me, Brienne. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

She hesitated, then nodded. She wasn’t sure she completely believed him, but the best thing she could do for him now was to support him, and after taking a deep breath, she led the way out of her gym and into the streets of King’s Landing. Jaime followed her and fell easily, naturally into stride with her as they turned toward the Sept of Balor. The sun glinted off his golden hair and in a few minutes, he would be glistening with a healthy sweat, while Brienne turned into a blotchy, red mess at his side. Even faced with the promise of more scorn, he held himself aloof; it was as if there was nothing on his mind today but the beauty of the morning as their feet pounded down the sidewalk.

These work outs and sparring sessions with Brienne were a physical therapy of sorts, and perhaps an emotional therapy as well though he’d probably deny any such thing. While in a bad fight with Cersei, she’d gotten drunk and wrecked their car. The accident had cost Jaime his hand and nearly landed him on trial for attempted murder: to save her from jail time he’d taken the wrap for driving drunk, and later some had speculated that he’d meant to kill them both in some desperate attempt to keep them together for eternity.

Tywin Lannister had managed to buy off the bad press and eventually the dust had settled a little. That was when Jaime had found her, bought her a gym to run, and insisted she take over his physical therapy. They’d only met once before that, at a wedding, and she’d been stunned that he’d remembered her at all, but he would not take no for an answer, and Brienne hadn’t been able to refuse in the face of his generosity and his obvious need. Ever since then, they’d spent hours together fighting, talking, learning how to navigate the prickly truths that kept others away.

She owed him a lot, though he’d probably say the same of her.

“You know,” Jaime commented as they approached the Sept, “Renly and Cersei are going to be siblings-in-law in a few weeks.”

Brienne winced at that. Renly had been her humiliation and Cersei had been Jaime’s destruction, and those events had been the catalyst for their unlikely friendship. The fact that their ex-loves were going to be linked so closely together was a painful reminder of how they’d gotten here, and though Jaime was taking pains to sound casual about it all, she was willing to bet there was an ache in his chest. There was certainly one in hers.

“It’s a small world,” was the only answer she could come up with, and she very carefully kept her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her feet.

“It’s a cruel world, not a small one,” Jaime replied, unable to keep his bitterness from coloring his words.

“It doesn’t have to be cruel.” Even as she said the words, she could feel Jaime’s glance and she knew that he’d have that half-exasperated, half-affectionate smirk on his face. She tried—and failed—not to flush under his scrutiny.

“Will I never turn you into a realist?” he asked, his tone light with amusement at her expense.

“A cynic, I think you mean,” she corrected, and smiled when he laughed.

“Your optimism is saint-like, Brienne,” he replied.

“Try to remember that when I beat you in the ring later.”

“Over-confidence is usually my forte,” he reminded her with a wicked grin. Then he put on a burst of speed, laughing again as she lengthened her stride to catch up with him. She was glad he was laughing today of all days; she’d been afraid that he’d show up for their session in a self-defeating mood. He could be mercurial but seeing him this way made her think perhaps he’d come further along in his recovery than she’d dared hope even a month ago.

Their run wasn’t as bad as she feared it might be. Some people stopped and stared at Jaime, some shouted. Most seemed content to take pictures or videos, preferring to share their thoughts with their social media accounts rather than with Jaime himself. He kept his head high and Brienne was proud of him, though a small part of her shrank from the knowledge that the headlines would soon be mocking him for being seen with someone that looked like she did.

Thankfully, by the time they’d completed their normal loop and ended up back at her gym, her worries had turned into a desire to hit something. Jaime seemed to be nearly as keen for a fight as she was, and she lost herself in the familiar rhythms of their sparring. His footwork was superior to hers, but she had the better reach. In most other areas, they were pretty evenly matched. By the time Brienne emerged as the day’s victor in the ring, any lingering discomfort had disappeared.

“Good fight,” Jaime said as he toweled off, unperturbed that she’d beaten him. Their record was pretty even these days, though in the beginning she’d wiped the floor with him.

“You too.” Brienne buried her sweaty face into a towel and wished, not for the first time, that she looked as golden and perfect as he did after exertion. Instead, her hair was sticking out everywhere and she could feel the uneven contours of her nose, broken long ago in a MMA match and again in an exhibition fight. Jaime watched as she dragged the towel away from her face and ran it down her neck, then he sighed a bit wistfully.

“I wish I could stay and help with your students, but the old lion insisted on having a meeting,” he told her.

“More publishing woes?” Brienne asked as she followed him toward the locker rooms. He made a face at her as they paused outside the doors.

“I’m sure publishing is the least of his worries, considering all the other businesses under the Lanniscorps umbrella,” he said with his familiar, old exasperation, “but he doesn’t trust me.”

“So make him,” Brienne replied. “You can, you know. You’re a good publisher and you’re good at running the business side too, he can’t ignore that forever.”

“If only he had your confidence in me,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright wench, because it’s you, I’ll try to get him to back off a bit.”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, like she did every time he used that awful nickname, but he only laughed and disappeared into the locker room to shower.

* * *

 

Three days passed with considerably more foot traffic for the gym than normal. Everyone in King’s Landing seemed to want to get an up-close look at Jaime Lannister’s ugly jogging partner. Jaime himself hadn’t been back since the day the news broke, but that wasn’t unheard of, especially not after an encounter with Tywin. Through it all, Brienne grit her teeth and did her best to bear the unwelcome scrutiny, though she wished she could close the gym until all the fuss died out.

When it was time at last to shut the doors on the third night, she was exhausted. Robb Stark, her partner in running the gym, had offered to stay and lock up with her, but she’d sent him home to his pregnant wife. It was a Thursday and not too late, though the streets were already quiet. She promised herself the luxury of wine, a book and a bath when she got home. Margaery had sent some of the Tyrell’s latest bath oil, mayhaps she’d give that a try and report back—

There were four of them, and they attacked from behind while her key was still in the lock. Two grabbed her while a third managed to kick her low in the back, knocking her off balance. Pain shot up her spine as she wrenched herself free of the one on her right—he’d underestimated her strength—but the fourth had a bat and was closing in from the left.

“I don’t have any money,” she warned them, trying to position herself to attack the one that had kicked her.

“We’ve already been paid,” said the one with the bat. Then they all fell on her, and after that there were no more words. Brienne punched and scratched, kicked and bit. One of her attackers went down with a broken nose. The next, a broken wrist. For one victorious moment, Brienne thought she’d make it out of this assault none the worse for wear—and then the bat connected with her head and shoulder, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time getting this fic started, not sure why. I would have skipped right to Brienne waking up, but I wanted to establish their friendship and some of what their history has been up to this point. Next chapter is when the romantic tropes start to kick off in earnest, and the fun will truly begin! <3


	2. The Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne looked up at him, then down at her hand—at his mother’s ring. She knew better, she really did. Pretending to be engaged to Jaime Lannister was going to be torture. He was too handsome and too infuriating for this to be anything other than a terrible idea. But she also knew she was going to do it. He needed her help, so of course she’d do it.
> 
> “Just for a couple of months?” she asked. He beamed at her, sensing his impending victory.
> 
> “That’s it,” he agreed. “And they’ll be fun months, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy that you have checked out this fic! Thank you so much. I've had this idea running around my head for a while and I can't wait to share it all with you.
> 
> I won't be able to keep up daily updates, but I'll try to update twice-weekly. Thank you so much for reading! <333

It took Brienne a long time to come back to life. She clawed her way out of the black, following a strange beeping sound toward the surface of whatever deep waters she’d been sunk in. When her eyes flickered open—just to slits—the light was bright enough to hurt. She groaned softly and even that small noise sounded hoarse. The beeping, she discovered, was some sort of monitor that was showing a readout of her vital signs.

It took her a moment to realize that someone was holding her hand. A large, warm palm was pressed to hers and the fingers wrapped around hers were warm and gentle. It took too long for her to open her eyes again, and she wasn’t prepared by the sight that greeted her when she finally managed it. Jaime Lannister was asleep in the chair next to her bed and he was glorious in spite of his light snoring, so handsome it made her stomach clench involuntarily. He was unshaven and he seemed to be sleeping on a chair that pulled out into a sort of cot…how long had he been there? How long had _she?_ What had happened to her?

She wanted to wake him, to ask him those very questions, but her head started to spin a bit. She closed her eyes, hoping that the dizziness would pass in a few seconds…and then she was sinking back into the dark, and she slept again.

* * *

 

When she woke again, Jaime was still there. She didn’t know if she’d slept only a few minutes or if it had been days: her only clue was that Jaime was wearing a different shirt. He was sleeping—still? Again?—on that uncomfortable-looking cot-chair. The machines still beeped around her, and she realized at least one of them was monitoring her heartbeat. It changed as she reached full consciousness, speeding up as she took in the sight of her bedside companion. His hair was tousled as though he’d run his fingers through it many times, and there was a small overnight bag tucked under the chair he was sleeping in.

Her heart clenched as she realized he’d stayed at her side, watching over her while she’d been unconscious, for at least one night and probably more than that.

Her eyes slipped shut once more. She was trying to remember what had happened, but nothing came to her. All she could remember was wanting to have a bath and bury herself in a novel, then…nothing. Nothing until she’d opened her eyes in this room. Mayhaps Jaime could tell her more…

There was a sound from the chair beside her bed: a sleepy groan and then a body shifting against an uncomfortable chair. Brienne’s eyes popped open and she jerked her head in the direction of the sound. Jaime was waking up, stretching with another husky moan that sent her heart monitor wild again. His green eyes were muzzy with sleep and unfocused, but when he saw Brienne was awake he snapped to attention.

“Brienne” he said. “You’re finally awake.”

“Mmm,” Brienne managed, and the sound turned into a groan as she turned her flaming face into her pillow. “Barely.”

She felt him lean over her bed, close enough that she caught his scent; he smelled like sunshine and spiced rum. No one should smell so good after sleeping in a chair in a hospital room. When the heart monitor sped up again, she vowed to herself that she was going to dump the traitorous thing out of the window, and prayed he hadn’t observed the effect he had on her. He seemed too busy examining her to notice, watching closely for any signs of pain. He looked genuinely delighted that she was awake and, when he was certain she was not uncomfortable—at least not physically uncomfortable—he sat back with a wide smile that crinkled his eyes up at the corners.

“What happened to me?” she asked, wincing at the ugly croak that came out of her mouth in place of her usual voice.

“You don’t remember?” He sounded surprised. “You were jumped outside of the gym. There were four of them. You were winning the fight, and then one of them hit you with a baseball bat. You’ve been in a coma for two weeks…you woke up yesterday long enough for the doctors to examine you, but you’ve been asleep since then. They expect you to make a full recovery,” he added, sounding relieved.

“I don’t remember waking up,” she said, trying to process his words. He nodded, covered her hand with his own. His touch was absurdly comforting, and her fingers twitched under his.

“You should recover quickly now,” he told her. “And there should be no lasting effects.”

“I got hit with a bat?” she asked, and in a flash all warmth left Jaime’s gaze. His eyes blazed with a grim sort of fury that sent a shiver down her spine. He nodded, and she pressed for more. “Was it a random attack? A mugging?”

This time Jaime shook his head, hesitating. Some of the color left his face as he looked down at her. “Not random, no,” he said slowly. “They wanted to hurt you specifically.”

She could see the guilt on his face now. He pulled back, leaning against the back of the chair as if he needed the support. Her hand instantly missed the warmth of his, but she didn’t have the courage to reach for him.

“Why?” she asked.

“Me. They hurt you because of me,” he told her.

She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said, and he gave her a wry, crooked smile that caused her heart monitor to go haywire once more. In spite of that smile, his body did not relax.

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” he replied, but when she opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, he shook his head at her.

“Later,” he said, and ignoring her protests, he summoned a nurse by pressing a call button on her bed.

* * *

 

He stayed while the nurse and then the doctor looked her over and explained what her recovery would entail. The doctor ordered a CAT scan and informed her that she’d have to stay in the hospital for a couple more days for observation. As the nurses prepped her for her scan, one leaned over and said, “He hasn’t left your side—you’re so lucky!”

She straightened and gave Jaime an admiring smile, though he barely seemed to notice when she left. Brienne, however, could not look at him. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment at the nurse’s misinterpretation of their relationship. When she did work up enough courage to peek at him, he was grinning at her with mischief in his eyes.

Weren’t there visiting hours at this hospital? How could she rest with Jaime tormenting her every few minutes from her own bedside? But he seemed in no rush to leave. Instead, he made himself more comfortable in his chair.

“Are you hungry, wench?” he asked, wiggling his phone at her. “I could order something. It’d be here by the time you’re back from your scan.”

“No, thank you. Shouldn’t you…shouldn’t you go home? I appreciate you staying with me, I truly do, but…”

“But you want to be rid of me?” Jaime lifted an eyebrow. “That’s not very gracious of you.”

He was clearly teasing her, but Brienne’s cheeks flamed again. “That’s not what I meant—” she started, but he touched her wrist and the words froze on her tongue. That stupid heart monitor had to be malfunctioning, there was no way her heart was racing out of control _again._

“I need to tell you something before I go,” he said. He got out of his chair and leaned over her again, bringing his head close to hers.

“What is it?” she asked, too loudly. He smirked and leaned in even closer.

“It’s a secret,” he murmured in her ear. How did he get his voice to sound so velvety and when had the air in this room gotten so thin?

“What secret? You know I’m not good with secrets,” Brienne said, panicking slightly.

“I told them we’re engaged.”

“You _what?_ ” Brienne nearly jumped out of her hospital bed. Jaime gave her an amused look as he sat back, affecting his casual lounging again.

“I told them we’re engaged. I had to. They weren’t going to let me in unless I was family.”

Brienne stared at him with an open mouth. Why wouldn’t he have just left her alone? She had an emergency contact in her phone—Sansa Stark—so _someone_ would have been notified. There was no need for him to…to…her heart flipped over in her chest. There had been no need for him to stay with her, but he had. He’d made sure he could, for as long as she needed him.

Their extended eye contact seemed to make Jaime uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair and looked away, tapping his thigh with his good hand.

“I didn’t want you to be alone. Not when those guys hurt you because of me,” he told her with a furrowed brow.

Brienne slumped down into her bed and pulled her sheets to her chin, feeling a strange mix of shyness and warmth infuse her. He always did this sort of thing to her: he made her feel like she was about to climb out of her skin with exasperation and then he’d say something that deflated her anger in an instant. It was extremely frustrating.

“Oh. Uh…thank you for…staying,” she replied lamely. He gave her a slightly bemused, crooked smile.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said.

A new sense of foreboding flooded Brienne. He was about to say something exasperating again, she could tell by the look on his face. She tried to brace herself, because the self-conscious expression he wore now was another hint that she was about to be upset.

“What is it?” she prompted.

He winced. “Well…word may have gotten out. About our engagement.”

“Our _fake_ engagement,” she corrected him.

“Yes. That. I had to tell my family, of course. I needed to get my mother’s ring for you,” he explained, before she could ask why his family needed to know, “so I had to tell my father. And Tyrion thinks maybe a nurse talked to one of their friends and then it got out on social media…although I’ve been here so much, the press probably would have found out soon anyway…”

At the mention of his mother’s ring, Brienne had looked down at her left hand. There _was_ a ring there. A gorgeous ring. A beautiful, vintage band with a large, oval cut diamond that flashed with fire even under the dim hospital lights. Smaller diamonds crowned the top and cradled the bottom of the central stone, and the band curled away in intricate little loops. Brienne had never paid a lot of attention to jewelry, but it looked shockingly expensive.

 _And,_ whispered a treacherous little voice inside of her, _it seems to fit on your finger as though it was made for you_. Seeing it on her hand filled her with a strange emotion. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it swelled inside of her until her chest felt constricted. She tore her gaze away from the ring to look up at Jaime, at a complete loss for words.

 _The gods are laughing at me,_ she thought. The perfect ring, given to her by the perfect man…and it was all a sham. The thought filled her with a deep, aching sadness.

“Well, now that I’m awake, we can just tell everyone the truth,” she said, trying to wrestle her emotions back under control.

He made a pained face. “We _could_ do that…”

“Oh gods—”

“Would I be able to convince you to keep up the pretense for a couple of months?”

“ _Months!_ ”

Jaime shushed her, glancing toward the open door. “My father wants me to marry Margaery Tyrell. Her last relationship just ended and it was ugly, and my father is still livid about my…Cersei situation. It’s the perfect solution for both our families to save face and unite the old dynasties, but if I’m already engaged, the pressure’s off.”

“Does Margaery want to marry _you?_ ”

“She does what Olenna Tyrell wants her to do,” Jaime replied dryly. “Please, Brienne? Margaery won’t stay single for long, and Olenna will focus her matchmaking efforts on someone else if I’m off the market.”

“Your life is so weird,” Brienne told him.

“You’d be saving my weird life. Again.” He gave her a soft, pleading look. “And you know what they say about Lannisters and debts.”

Brienne looked up at him, then down at her hand—at his mother’s ring. She knew better, she really did. Pretending to be engaged to Jaime Lannister was going to be torture. He was too handsome and too infuriating for this to be anything other than a terrible idea. But she also knew she was going to do it. He needed her help, so of course she’d do it.

“Just for a couple of months?” she asked. He beamed at her, sensing his impending victory.

“That’s it,” he agreed. “And they’ll be fun months, I promise.”

Brienne hummed, a noncommittal sound that made it clear she didn’t think it would be fun at all, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. That only made Jaime’s grin wider, as if he could read her thoughts. Perhaps he could, he usually seemed to guess what was on her mind.

“We can go antique sword shopping,” he said in a sing-song voice. Damn him for knowing her weaknesses!

“Oh, _alright,_ ” she said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “I’ll play along. But you better not be lying about the antique sword shopping.”

“I swear,” he said, crossing his heart with his pointer finger. She rolled her eyes at him and he laughed, then leaned in again so that their noses were almost brushing. His eyes glittered with mirth as he said, “Remember, wench: from this point on, you’re madly in love with me.”

Her breath froze in her chest at his words, but she forced herself to shove him away.

 _Too late,_ she thought, but out loud she said, with more daring than she actually felt, “I can sell it. Can you?”

“Oh, I’ll definitely sell it, Brienne,” he replied.

 _Yeah,_ she mused, _that’s what I’m afraid of._


	3. Meeting Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I received word you’d woken,” Tywin said to Brienne before Jaime could get a word in. “Perhaps you’ll be more sensible than my son. How much will it take for you to disappear?”
> 
> “There’s nothing you could offer me that would make me leave Jaime,” she said. Her eyes never wavered from Tywin’s. “Only he could ever send me away, and even then I’d still love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!

The last two weeks had been almost unbearable for Jaime. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless, but there was nothing he could do for Brienne as long as she was in a coma. Nothing, that was, except for having his brother put him in contact with Varys, the better to sniff out the source of Brienne’s attack. Once that call had been made, however, all he could do was sit by her bed and watch over her, hoping she’d open her magnificent eyes once more.

He’d been the one that had found her that day, laying in the alley behind her gym. When she hadn’t answered his texts, he’d thought maybe she was working late. The front of the gym had been locked up but her car had still been there, so he’d gone around back and—the memory still made ice run down his spine. He’d been forced to follow the ambulance in his car and forced to give a statement to the police when they’d arrived at the hospital. By the time that was over, Brienne had been rushed away for treatment and no one would tell him anything or allow him to see her. His temper, fueled by stress and guilt, had snapped then.

“She’s my fiancée,” he’d growled, “and I’m going to see her whether you let me through or not.”

Between his ferocity and the fact that one of the hospital’s wings had been donated by his family, victory had been all but guaranteed. They’d given him her room number, a private room for a Lannister bride of course, and explained how the armchair could be converted into a semi-passible bed. And there was no question of him paying for any of his meals or coffee from the hospital cafeteria.

 _The perks of being a Lannister,_ he’d thought wryly.

After a few hours at her bedside, he knew he should call Sansa Stark and inform her of her friend’s misfortune before making his way home. His little white lie about being her fiancé would be forgotten and he could visit during visiting hours just like everyone else. But she’d looked so alone in that room, surrounded by cold, beeping monitors. And it was more than that: she looked _vulnerable._ He’d never seen her like that before. Brienne Tarth was, more than anything else, a pillar of strength. That bed diminished her, and it felt so wrong that he’d stayed. He held her hand all through that first night, and that was how the nurses found him whenever they’d come to check on their patient.

The next day, his father had shown up at the hospital in person. Ignoring Brienne’s lifeless body completely, he had laid out all the reasons why she was an unfit consort for his eldest son and heir in such cold, precise language that by the end of the recitation, Jaime had been shaking with outrage. Tywin had demanded that he give her up. He had, in turn, demanded his mother’s engagement ring. The stand-off had lasted for a week. In the end, it had been Tyrion that had arrived with the ring. Tywin still disapproved, but the news had already leaked to the major Westerosi press outlets.

“And you know father,” Tyrion had told him with a sympathetic shrug, “he’ll do anything to maintain the illusion of family unity.”

Jaime had only rolled his eyes and taken the ring. Tyrion watched him slide it onto Brienne’s ring finger, then he’d looked his brother in the eyes and said, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Jaime.”

He’d left after that, and Jaime had spent the second week at Brienne’s bedside trying to figure out what, exactly, he _was_ doing.

As a rule, Jaime wasn’t a deep thinker. Introspection bored him too much to be of much use. But that week, he looked down at the woman in the hospital bed and thought about what she was to him and what he’d done to her by claiming her as his future bride. As soon as she woke up, the world was going to want to know who she was and how she’d captured the infamous Jaime Lannister’s heart.

“Do you remember,” he asked her one night in the silence of the hospital room, “when we first met? It was Renly’s wedding at Highgarden. You were in the wedding party and I’d brought Cersei as my plus-one. You were miserable and trying to hide it. Loras introduced us and Cersei said something awful to you. I don’t even remember what. I do remember laughing, though.” He frowned and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for that, Brienne. For laughing. And then after dinner  the speeches started and that idiot Hyle Hunt got up to say his bit. He made everyone else laugh at you too, joking about you loving a gay man.

“So I found you after. I think it’s the only time I’ve ever seen you that drunk,” he added, smiling down at her affectionately. “You’d had way too much free champagne, and you’d found Loras’ little outdoor gym in the back garden. Your skirt was hiked up and you weren’t wearing shoes. Loras’ punching bag was getting savaged rather brutally, if memory serves.”

He laughed a little as he pictured it, and he gave her hand a squeeze. “You were magnificent, one of the best fighters I’d ever seen, even as drunk as you were. And I didn’t feel like laughing anymore. I thought about you a lot, after that wedding. I’m lucky to have you, Brienne.

“You probably saved my life after I lost Cersei and my hand. Now you’ve taken this beating for me. You’re not making it easy for me to repay my debts, wench.” His eyes lingered on her face. “I wonder if you’ve guessed how essential you are to me yet? You’d be blushing if you were awake. I miss those blushes. You’d better wake up soon and blush again—and call me an arrogant ass. My head is getting pretty swollen without you to keep me grounded.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I miss you, Brienne,” he said, and then he settled down to get some sleep.

She’d opened her eyes the very next day.

* * *

 

As tolerant as Brienne had been with Jaime in those nightmarish days after his amputation, and as understanding as she was of even her most timid young students at the gym, she was not turning out to be a very genial patient herself. For some reason, Jaime found this endlessly amusing. She was glaring at him when the doctor insisted that she stay overnight for observation again, though all her brain activity was measuring as typical. He knew he’d get an earful later, but her frustration was so damn _funny._

The doctor left them with breakfast trays and coffee, and Jaime took his usual seat next to her bed. The accursed thing had to have a solid impression of his ass on it by now, but soon both he and Brienne could leave this room for good. That thought made him cheerful. Unfortunately, that cheerfulness only lasted until the exact moment his father and brother entered the room.

“I received word you’d woken,” Tywin said to Brienne before Jaime could get a word in. “Perhaps you’ll be more sensible than my son. How much will it take for you to disappear?”

Brienne stared up at him. He looked taller than he was thanks to an impeccably tailored suit. His face was as cold and stony as Casterly Rock, though his eyes were sharp as he examined her reaction to his backhanded offer. Jaime felt himself bristle and he started to shove his tray away so he could get to his feet, but Brienne shot him a look and he stilled. Tywin watched the exchange with an unreadable expression.

She met his gaze, her own eyes blazing with resolve. _Beautiful,_ Jaime thought, and then she spoke.

“There’s nothing you could offer me that would make me leave Jaime,” she said. Her eyes never wavered from Tywin’s. “Only he could ever send me away, and even then I’d still love him.”

Jaime’s heart tightened painfully, throbbed in his chest as though her words had reminded it of why it beat in the first place. He stared at her with his lips slightly parted, but her focus remained wholly on her father.

“You’re certain, my dear?” Tywin asked coolly.

“Absolutely certain. Ser.”

He smiled. It was a wan, thin thing that expressed exactly no happiness or acceptance, but he tilted his head a little as if conceding victory to her.

“A test, of course,” he explained with a graceful spread of his well-manicured hands. “I wanted to be certain you weren’t only after my son for his inheritance.”

“Of course,” Brienne replied. Her smile was more gracious than Tywin’s, but Jaime could tell she hadn’t believed a word.

Gods, she was marvelous.

Tyrion had watched this exchange in silence, his eyes flicking back and forth between Jaime, Brienne and Tywin. Then he paused, studying his older brother at length. Jaime tried to ignore the penetrating gaze, but it was difficult in such a small room. Tyrion was extremely perceptive, and when that was paired with his sometimes callous lack of tact, he cold say things that no one was prepared or equipped to deal with.

“Well, now that’s over with, shall we celebrate your recovery? I’m Tyrion,” he said, making his way to stand next to the bed so he could take Brienne’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Brienne glanced at Jaime, but she gave Tyrion a genuine smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Jaime’s told me a lot of stories.”

“I can only imagine what you must think of me in that case. He speaks of you often as well,”—they both ignored Jaime’s embarrassed groan—“but I still wasn’t prepared for how truly astonishing you are.”

Brienne flushed and glanced at Jaime again. He looked away, feeling awkward and boyish and unsure of what to do with his hand. Tywin saved him from having to respond with some witty rejoinder by stepping forward and staring down at his bedridden wench.

“Welcome to the family, Ms Tarth,” he said, stilted and formal. “You’ll forgive me, but I must return to my normal business. I look forward to getting to know you.”

“Yes, so do I,” Brienne replied, and though her eyes were wary, her tone was just as cool and measured as Tywin’s. He turned on his heel and marched out, but not before pinning Jaime to his chair with his stony green eyes.

 _We’ll talk,_ that look promised.

Well, it was bound to be unpleasant, but Jaime tried not to worry about it. Foiling his father’s plans for a dynastic marriage was always going to be risky, but he couldn’t be any less courageous than Brienne.

She was chatting easily with Tyrion, but she kept shooting him worried glances. He sent her back a reassuring smile.

He had two months to convince her that he was in love with her, and to agree to a true proposal. It was time for him to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, the whole fake engagement is Jaime's plan to convince Brienne that they'd be good together and that they should totally, actually get married. This is mostly because he thinks she wouldn't agree to date him if he just asked her.
> 
> Next time, Selwyn arrives and Brienne goes "home."


	4. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s something else we need to work on,” Jaime said.
> 
> “Our communication skills?” Brienne asked, with a little more venom than she’d meant to. How was it he always seemed to get his way?
> 
> “No,” he replied, unperturbed by her provoking tone. “You jump every time I touch you.”

“Little star!” Selwyn filled the hospital room as soon as he stepped into it, and with him he brought love and the smell of the ocean. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“It’s okay,” Brienne replied, smiling so wide that her cheeks hurt, “I’m so happy to see you.”

The comfort of her father’s presence surprised her with its intensity, and she held him tight as he leaned down to hug her. He was as big as she remembered, but while she’d been away from the island some more grey had snuck into his hair, and the lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened. He gave her a gentle squeeze before claiming Jaime’s usual chair for himself, and his blue eyes sparkled as he gazed at her.

“What’s this I hear about an engagement?” he asked, and chuckled when Brienne shifted under the blankets in embarrassment.

“It was…we wanted to keep it a secret,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to do it in person.”

That sounded reasonable enough. Brienne had always been a terrible liar, but she hoped her father wouldn’t notice her dishonesty this time. He studied her for a moment longer, then took her hand. His own was huge, but surprisingly gentle.

“Does he make you happy, little star?”

Brienne’s eyes went wide and she glanced away, but she was smiling when she looked back again. “Yes. He also makes me want to strangle him. Sometimes both at once.”

Selwyn’s laugh filled the room, and Brienne’s heart lightened with the sound. He patted her hand and shot her a wink.

“Ah, good. That sounds exactly right. He’s not good enough for you, but no one is. As long as he’s the one you choose, I’ll be happy.”

“Thank you, papa,” she replied, blinking back tears. It hurt to lie to him, especially when he was so clearly delighted that she might have found real love. She knew all he truly wanted was her happiness, and that he’d hurt for her when she and Jaime ‘broke up.’ But she couldn’t dwell on it: the damage was done. Better to let him think it had all been real for a time than to admit the whole thing was a ruse.

But she was never going to lie to him again.

“Now,” her father said, breaking into her thoughts, “tell me about this lion of yours.”

* * *

 Visiting with her father had been wonderful, and so was the news that she’d be able to leave the hospital at last. She closed her eyes and pictured her bathtub, the wine in her fridge, that novel she’d been meaning to start for ages…and it would be so nice to have a little time to herself, to process the insane events of the past couple of days.

“I’ll have a car come and pick us up while you fill out the discharge paperwork,” Jaime said. Brienne hummed in agreement, distracted by her daydreams of sleeping in her own bed. Then words actually penetrated her brain, and her head snapped up.

“Pick _us_ up?” she repeated.

“So we can go home. Honey,” he added, with a little emphasis on the last word. Brienne glanced at the nurse that was detaching her from all the machinery she’d been connected to.

“Right,” she said, “of course. Sorry, I just thought you might want to…catch up at work.”

“I will have to go in soon,” he agreed, “but let’s get you settled back in at the house first.”

Brienne shot him a furious look, but he only gave her an innocent smile, his brows lifting toward the ceiling. She decided to table her argument until they were alone, but she signed her discharge forms with more vigor than was absolutely necessary. Jaime seemed, as ever, amused by her silent frustration, and that only fanned the flames more, so it was hard for her to manage a proper thank you when he grasped the handles of her borrowed wheelchair so he could take her to their waiting car. She disliked been wheeled around when she felt perfectly normal in case someone had more need than she, but it was hospital policy.

“Here we are,” Jaime said as they excited the hospital and stopped beside a luxury sedan the color of Valyrian steel. The windows were tinted so black that it was impossible to see inside. Brienne stared at the car, thinking it was probably worth six months of her rent at least, but Jaime appeared not to notice. He helped her to her feet while she gawked, passed the wheelchair over to the nurse, and opened the car door.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and Brienne managed to unglue her feet and climb into the back seat.

She’d known he was rich, of course. It was one of those facts everyone knew about him: he came from old, old money. And he’d bought her a gym to run, she couldn’t forget that. But it was easy to forget when they were jogging through King’s Landing in sweaty work-out clothes or sparring in a ring with the same equipment her students used. Here, in the back of his car, his wealth was impossible to ignore. It was in the custom leather seats and the wood paneling. It was in the lions detailed in the divider that closed the driver out of this private little escape, and the touch screens that slid out of the seatbacks, and in the champagne, already chilled and waiting for them as they buckled in.

The partition between the front seat and the back was down, and the driver turned to them. He had clever dark eyes and a smirk that seemed surprisingly unprofessional considering their plush surroundings.

“Ah, so this is the lady. Can’t imagine why anyone would agree to put up with you for life. At least not without getting paid for it,” he quipped. Jaime shot him a warning glance.

“Clearly we’ve been paying you too much, Bronn,” he replied. The driver didn’t seem to feel chastised by this at all. His smirk merely widened, and he passed an arm back so he could shake Brienne’s hand.

“Bronn Blackwater,” he said. “I work for this one-handed wonder, but he definitely _doesn’t_ pay me enough.”

“Brienne Tarth,” she replied, trying but not quite able to hide her grin from Jaime. “I’ll work on that.”

“I like her,” Bronn said to his boss. Jaime made a face at him and put the partition up, ignoring the face he made back.

“There,” he said, turning to Brienne when the screen was completely up. “So—”

“I’m moving in now?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. She crossed her arms over her chest and held his gaze until she had the satisfaction of seeing him falter, just a little.

“Well. Not completely, if you’re not comfortable with it. But you have to admit as part of our cover story, it makes sense.”

“I _like_ my apartment, Jaime.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely. I’m looking forward to seeing it,” he replied.

“Seeing it?”

“I’ll have to bring some things over. An engaged couple would have things at each other’s places. A toothbrush and a few clothes, at least. Maybe a towel.”

The idea of a man’s clothes in her apartment, which had been so entirely her own for so long, struck her silent for a moment. And he wasn’t wrong: it would seem odd if nothing of his was in her home. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then nodded her consent. Jaime looked relieved and glanced out of the tinted window.

“There’s something else we need to work on,” he said.

“Our communication skills?” she asked, with a little more venom than she’d meant to. How was it he always seemed to get his way?

“No,” he replied, unperturbed by her provoking tone. “You jump every time I touch you.”

Brienne froze and her heart started to hammer in her chest. At least that damn monitor couldn’t give her away now, but her cheeks still burned. “What?”

“Whenever I touch you, you jump. Like I’m shocking you or my hands are cold,” he repeated. He touched her hand to prove it, and sure enough, her fingers twitched at the contact. “But we’re engaged. You should be used to my touch.”

“Oh. Uh…I can’t really help…I’m not doing it on purpose,” she mumbled, wishing she could launch herself out of the moving vehicle instead of dying slowly of embarrassment.

“We’ll just have to make sure you _get_ used to it,” he said.

Oh gods, it was so hot in the back of the damn car. Her tongue seemed to have contracted a strange paralysis and she turned to the window to try and hide the fact that her whole body was flushed.

Used to his touch… It sounded so intimate, and without her permission her mind went to all the delicious ways he might help her grow accustomed to it. Her breath was growing shorter as she imagined his hand stroking up her side, his stump sliding up her thigh—

“Here.” Jaime handed her a water bottle from the car’s mini fridge. “You look like you need it.”

She grabbed it and took several long gulps, wondering how in the names of all the gods she was going to survive these next few weeks.

* * *

 Jaime’s house was beautiful, but not as opulent as Brienne had begun to fear. It was two stories, brick, with huge bay windows and a large, lovely garden which offered some privacy. Inside, a decorator had used a deft touch to make the space airy and comfortable, and not too masculine. The couches in particular looked sinfully comfortable, and books were everywhere. There was something about it which was uniquely _Jaime_ : surprisingly soft and warm, but private to the point of near secrecy. Brienne was a little taken aback by how easy she felt in his home, but there was no denying she felt comfortable here. He took her on a quick tour, and upstairs she discovered three bedrooms and two stunning bathrooms, including one with a bathtub that actually looked long enough for her to stretch out in. Jaime saw her eyeballing it with longing and chuckled.

“Feel free to borrow it any time, wench.” Then he frowned thoughtfully at the twin sinks. “We’ll have to get you something to put in here. Make-up, toothbrush, that sort of thing.”

She nodded as he led her back into the master bedroom.

“And a few things in here, too. Some clothes to go in the closet or the dresser. Maybe a couple pairs of shoes.”

“Yes,” she agreed. She was busy trying not to look at the giant bed that dominated the room. This was too intimate. The mental image of him sleeping there floated in her mind’s eye and it was way too easy to imagine joining him there.

“We’ll get your things tomorrow. And I can take some of my stuff too,” he said quietly.

“Alright.”

“Brienne.” She forced herself to look at him. He gave her a puzzled smile. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“Yes. Yes,” she said again, sounding more confident the second time. “Sorry. I guess I’ll be sleeping here tonight?”

He nodded and gestured at the bed. “I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he said. She hesitated, then shook her head.

“No. You have a cleaning staff, right? And I assume Tyrion and Tywin could visit at any time?”

Jaime nodded again, watching her in silence. There was a look in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, but it made her palms sweaty. She wiped them off on her pants as discretely as she could.

“We should sleep in the same room, in that case,” she finished.

“Alright. That…makes sense.” He seemed…nervous? She’d never seen him quite like this before, staring at her with slightly parted lips. They were alone in his bedroom and he was looking at her with such soft, uncertain eyes—

 _Stop that,_ she warned herself sternly.

“I must be tired,” she said after a long pause.

“Yeah. Yes, of course,” he replied, seeming to shake himself out of a partial trance. “Lay down if you’d like. I’ll just, I’ll be downstairs. If you need me.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She waited until he’d left to climb into the bed. She sank into the mattress and curled up under sheets that smelled of sunshine and spiced rum.

 _I’m in Jaime’s bed,_ she thought dazedly, and then she fell asleep.

* * *

That night, when Jaime joined her on the bed, Brienne held her breath and stayed very still. Jaime settled onto his side and shoved a pillow under his head. There was a very respectable amount of room between them. His bed was so large that even with their impressive heights, no part of their bodies was forced to touch. She closed her eyes and breathed out again, long and slow.

“Goodnight, Brienne,” he said quietly.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she replied.

It was a long time before she could fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...I may end up changing the rating in the future. Not yet but...we'll see.
> 
> Next up: A lesson in touches.


	5. The Opposite of Touch-Starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching her put breakfast together there in the middle of his home had put a lump in Jaime's throat. It made him even more desperate for his plan to work, because that simple event reminded him of just how badly he wanted her to fix breakfast in his—no, their—kitchen every morning.

Brienne had left the bed by the time Jaime woke up. He put his hand on the sheets where she’d been resting. They were still warm, so she hadn’t been awake for long. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the bedroom ceiling. It had been a long time since he’d slept next to anyone. He’d laid awake for hours the night before, extremely aware that Brienne was just a few inches away from him. When sleep had finally come, he dreamed of blue seas and bluer eyes, and now that he was awake he felt restless.

He padded downstairs, still in his sleep clothes. His housecleaner Peck had arrived and was going about his tasks, humming to himself off-key. Brienne’s presence in the house didn’t seem to surprise him, but of course her face had been plastered all over the internet for the last few weeks, especially in conjunction with his name. Jaime nodded at the younger man and said good morning, and Peck gestured toward the kitchen.

Brienne was standing near the sink, peeling some sweet fruit from Essos. Toast was in the toaster and she’d (thank all the gods) brewed a pot of coffee. He watched as she poked around his pantry until she’d found some sugar. She stirred a spoonful into a mug she found a moment later, added a touch of milk, and then grabbed her fruit and toast and turned toward the dining room. That was when she spotted him.

“Morning,” she chirped, just a touch too cheerfully.

“Too early,” he replied with an exaggerated wince. She shot him one of her ‘why do I put up with you’ looks and said, “Jaime, it’s eight in the morning.”

He groaned and then laughed when she rolled her eyes at him. He watched her take a seat at the dining room table before wandering into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

Watching her put breakfast together there in the middle of his home had put a lump in his throat. It made him even more desperate for his plan to work, because that simple event reminded him of just how badly he wanted her to fix breakfast in his—no, _their_ —kitchen every morning. But he’d have to proceed carefully. She could be skittish, and he knew she thought it impossible for anyone to be attracted to her, as absurd as that was.

He dumped a bit of sugar in his own coffee but skipped the milk, then joined her at the table.

“You should eat breakfast,” she told him.

“Maybe later,” he replied. “Besides, wench—coffee _is_ breakfast.”

She made a face at him and took a bite of toast as if to make a point. He shook his head and pulled out his phone so he could pretend to browse the news while he tried to figure out what to do next. Then a wicked smile curled his lips. He looked up at her.

“Before we start over to your place—and we’re seen together in public—we should work on that touch-starvation of yours.”

Brienne went still. Her eyes met his, a touch guarded, and she set her toast down very deliberately.

“I’m not touch-starved,” she said.

“I beg to differ.”

“I hug Sansa all the time. And Robb. And Talisa.”

“Not the same, wench. I mean real touches.”

“I’ll be fine.”

His hand flashed out and he ran his fingertips over the skin of her forearm, watching as goosebumps appeared. Then he lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, _fine._ What do I need to do?” she snapped.

“Well, you can start by relaxing. I won’t hurt you, you can trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she said, sounding so disgruntled that he had to grin. He tried to hide it before she saw but he wasn’t quite successful.

“We’ll practice our PDA after breakfast, alright?”

She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. She looked as though she’d just been ordered to the gallows. He tried to take that as a good sign.

* * *

They met back in his living room after they’d both showered and dressed for the day. She was in his clothes since they had none of hers, and she’d had to use his shower things as well. Something about that made him feel contentedly possessive. She’d probably punch him if he ever said something like that out loud, but he enjoyed seeing her in his things or smelling his soap on her skin.

She was rubbing her hands on his sweatpants and she could barely look at him. He felt a strange sort of tension in the air between them that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Relax, Brienne,” he told her.

“I am relaxed,” she snapped, glaring at him. Then she realized how ridiculous that sounded, and she let her shoulders slump. He took a step toward her, reached out with his good hand and grabbed one of hers. Her fingers twitched in his, but she let out a breath and returned his light grip.

“How do fiancés touch?” she asked. He arched an eyebrow and color flooded her neck and face. “Besides the obvious,” she added. He gave a low chuckle and let go to slide his hand into her hair, cupping the nape of her neck gently. Her little shiver was very intriguing: was she ticklish, or was her reaction something more instinctive than that?

“Like this, I imagine,” he said.

“I was expecting you to hold my hand,” she mumbled, peeking down into his face.

“I’ll be doing that too.” He skimmed his fingers down her neck, over her shoulder and along her arm to her hand. He heard her breath catch and smiled a little. She was so responsive—but no, better not to follow that thought too much further.

“You know, we’ll probably have to kiss.”

Brienne made a slightly strangled sound. “Kiss?”

“Yes.” Jaime’s eyes dropped to her lips. “It would seem weird if we never kissed.”

“Jaime…” Her eyes were wide, and he could see her uncertainty starting to take over.

“Just a peck here and there,” he said, backing off a little so she’d feel more comfortable. He didn’t want to scare her or push her too far, but he was aching to put his arms around her. He watched as she considered his words, then she surprised him by stepping forward and dropping a quick, dry kiss to his lips. It barely lasted a second, but her bravery warmed him from the inside out.

 

“We’ll have to practice that,” he said, but lightly, so he didn’t spook her. “Now, one other thing.”

He stepped over to stand beside her and slid his arm around her waist, tugging her against his side. Tentatively, Brienne’s arm came up around him in return.

“This is…nice,” she said. Bit by bit she began to relax against him, and he leaned his head against hers. She let out a deep breath and glanced at him. Her cheeks were still red but she seemed much more comfortable with this than she had been with chaste little kisses.

She did feel nice, too. Better than nice. She fit against his side just right, and he could feel the strength of her, could feel the solid muscles of her arm and back. She smelled good too, still sweet under the hint of his soap. He’d wanted to hold her all night, it had been torture staying away. He savored this small sample of what it might have been like if he had.

“Shall we try a hug?” he asked.

“I know how to hug, Jaime,” she replied dryly.

“A real hug,” he insisted, and twirled her into his chest before wrapping his free arm around her. She poked him in the ribs hard enough to make him wince, but her own arms came up to embrace him. He buried his face in her shoulder, grinning helplessly when she poked him again.

“Hold me back for a minute, wench,” he said. “You’re madly in love with me, remember?”

“You’re insufferable,” she sniffed, but she leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed as his hand rubbed in slow, comforting circles over her back.

“There,” he said after a minute that hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. “Now you know what to expect. Just don’t forget to touch me once in a while.”

“I…I won’t,” she replied. He nodded, then released her with great reluctance.

“And stop kissing me like I’m your grandfather!” he added, and then dodged her semi-serious jab.

* * *

They headed to Brienne’s apartment after lunch. She called her father on the way so he could meet them there. Jaime had insisted on meeting Selwyn, just like a real fiancé. The truth was, he was quite nervous about it. He’d never met a girl’s parents before, and Brienne had mentioned before that Selwyn was even taller than she was. He drove over to the building was unusually silent as he worked out what to say.

“It doesn’t matter if he likes you,” Brienne said after a few long, quiet minutes. “We’re going to break up in a few weeks anyway.”

A pang went through his chest. “Still, better to make a good impression.”

Silence fell again after that, and Jaime still felt woefully unprepared as he parked outside the building. Selwyn was there already, his height and fair hair making him impossible to miss. He enveloped his daughter in a hug as soon as she got out of the car, and then he nailed Jaime with shrewd blue eyes.

 _Brienne’s are prettier,_ he thought as he stuck out his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jaime Lannister.”

Selwyn shook with his left, completely nonchalant about Jaime’s missing appendage. “Nice to meet you too, Jaime. I’ve met your father. Hard man.”

“Yes,” Jaime agreed. There was no point in denying it, and like Brienne, Selwyn seemed like that sort that appreciated honesty.

“Let’s go inside. I’ll make tea,” Brienne said. Selwyn slanted her a knowing look.

“ _I’ll_ make the tea. You never let it steep long enough,” he said. Jaime grinned at this; it was clearly an old family disagreement. He could work with that.

“Unless she forgets it entirely. You know she drinks it cold?” he asked the taller man.

“My daughter?”

Jaime crossed his heart. “Or warmed up in the microwave,” he added.

“Oh, _Brienne_ ,” Selwyn chided, and his daughter threw her hands into the air and marched into her building.

“I should have known you two would gang up on me,” she said, but both men could see the brilliant smile that curled her lips up. It made Jaime feel supremely lighthearted, seeing her so happy that they were getting along.

 _More,_ his heart whispered to him. He was starting to think that a lifetime with her still wouldn’t be enough.

* * *

It was hard to leave her there that night. He put some clothes in her closet, folded a towel over the rack in her bathroom and scattered some toiletries around. Then there were no more excuses to linger. He wandered toward her door, feeling very uncertain of what to do with his hands.

“Well,” he said, thinking of the empty bed waiting for him and how much he’d miss having her in it even after just one night. “Goodnight, Brienne.”

She shifted from one foot to another. Her eyes kept darting over to the couch, where her father was stretched out watching a rerun of a rugby match. He gave every appearance of being absorbed completely by the game, but they were in full view if he turned his head a bit.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she replied.

He reached up and touched her cheek. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she affirmed, her eyes closing slightly as he ran his thumb across her cheek. He leaned over and brushed his lips over the other one, then let her go and turned away.

“Jaime,” she said suddenly, and when he turned back to her, she grabbed his face and kissed him, chaste but firm, right on the mouth.

He grinned all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the bed-sharing is not over!
> 
> Next time: Brienne and Sansa have a chat, there's a spat over dinner, and they receive an unwelcome invitation.


	6. An Unfortunate Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Adults still have birthday parties?” Brienne asked, trying for some levity. He gave her a half-smile that made his eyes crinkle and her heart clench.
> 
> “Cersei likes to be the center of attention,” he replied, a little dryly. “Will you come with me?”
> 
> “Yes, alright. But I’m not getting her a gift.”
> 
> Jaime laughed and clinked his wine glass against hers. “Deal,” he agreed, and they drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little longer, my week got pretty weird! Thank you for all your AMAZING support!!!

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” Sansa said, reaching across the small café table to grasp Brienne’s hand. They were seated in their favorite little coffee shop. It was the first time Brienne had been able to meet Sansa since getting out of the hospital, and both women were eager to resume their weekly meetups. “Arya and I were worried sick, and Robb called the hospital every day for updates.”

Brienne smiled at her old friend. “Your family has always been so good to me.”

“And you’ve always been good to us,” Sansa relied with an answering smile. A beat later, it turned into a slightly knowing smirk. “So…Jaime Lannister? I didn’t even know you were dating.”

Brienne’s face flamed and she twisted her coffee cup in her hands. “There’s not much to tell. It…it happened very quickly.”

“Hmm…I bet.” Sansa took a ladylike sip of her cappuccino, but her eyes never stopped studying Brienne’s face. “He’s got a bad reputation, you know.”

“It’s not true,” Brienne said—too quickly. Her blush intensified, but she couldn’t seem to keep her mouth from moving. “He didn’t cause that crash, he was just protecting Cersei.”

Sansa’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the vehemence of Brienne’s defense, but she didn’t argue. She gave her friend a thoughtful look as she considered her next words.

“There’s also the fact that he dated Cersei Westerling in the first place. She’s…well, I’ll leave it at extremely unpleasant. It’s had to believe a decent man could love someone like that.”

If anyone was in a position to know if Cersei was ‘extremely unpleasant,’ it was Sansa. She was a very talented fashion designer, and Cersei was a model and social media influencer—whatever that meant. Brienne knew the two women had worked together before, and she knew that Sansa hadn’t liked Cersei from the start.

“I don’t know what he saw in Cersei,” she said honestly, “but he _is_ decent. More than decent—he’s a good man.”

Sansa contemplated her words with a delicate head tilt. “If you think he’s a good man, that’s good enough for me. When’s the wedding? Can I design your dress?”

Brienne froze. She hadn’t even thought about a potential wedding date. And she couldn’t accept Sansa’s offer for a personally designed dress she knew she’d never use…

“We…we haven’t picked a date. It’s probably going to be a long engagement. I—I’d love a dress, but maybe we should wait until more of the details have been sorted out?”

“I’d love to help you with the planning too, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course!” Brienne’s eyes felt suspiciously wet. Sansa ran her own design company and modeled occasionally as well. To offer her limited free time to help Brienne was a gesture that touched her deeply. She was lucky to have a friend like Sansa, and she wished she didn’t have to lie to her.

“A summer wedding in Tarth would be beautiful. Or spring in Winterfell! If you’d prefer Casterly Rock, I hear it’s lovely in winter—”

Brienne laughed and shook her head, slightly overwhelmed as visions of wedding ceremonies began flooding her mind’s eye. “I’ll have to talk with Jaime. Everything kind of got put on hold while I was in the hospital.”

Sansa reached over and gave her hand a sympathetic press. “Of course it did. But now we can have some fun with it,” she said, and Brienne nodded in the face of Sansa’s genuine happiness.

She was already in way over her head, but it was too late to turn back now.

* * *

She went back to the gym the next day, and for a little while life went back to normal. There was still a flow of curious customers only there because of her connection to Jaime, but Brienne knew that would trickle to a halt when other celebrity news took precedence. Robb congratulated her on her recovery and engagement, but he didn’t ask too many questions. She was grateful for that; it helped her to feel normal again, and that was a genuine comfort after all the upheaval.

Jaime came back for their normally scheduled work-out. That felt normal too, apart from him pressing a kiss to her cheek when he arrived.

“We’ve got some details we need to work out. People are asking questions about the wedding.”

“Sure. We can work it out over dinner. I’ll order in,” he replied. “And you can bring some things over.”

Brienne nodded and they left for their jog, but she was so distracted that he beat her handily when it came time for their spar. Before they separated to shower, he reached out and took her hand.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Brienne,” he told her. Somehow, that did make her feel a little better. He gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ll see you for dinner?”

“Sure,” she replied, and he squeezed her hand before heading into the men’s locker room.

A few hours later, Brienne arrived at his house, trying to banish the butterflies in her stomach. It felt so much like a date…but of course it wasn’t. She couldn’t afford to forget that.

Bronn opened the door, and he smirked when he saw it was her. He put his hands on his hips as he ran his eyes over her, a frank examination that Brienne wasn’t sure how to react to. He didn’t seem to be mocking her, but there was definitely laughter in his eyes when he met her gaze again.

“I get it now,” he said, somewhat cryptically. “Go on inside, he’s been waiting. And I’ll be on my way. Tell the ungrateful fucker I said bye.”

“Sure,” Brienne said slowly. She had no idea what he meant, but she supposed there was only one way to find out. She stepped inside and Bronn slipped past her, heading toward the garage with a whistle. She set her purse on the table by the door and took a deep breath. Something smelled delicious. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch, so she took another deep breath and followed her nose toward the dining room, hoping the take-out would still be warm.

It wasn’t take-out.

Instead, Jaime was bustling around in his kitchen alongside a young woman with a very elaborate set of braces and headgear. He was stirring something in a pot on the stove while the woman checked on a braised beef in the oven. Vegetables were being sautéed in a pan and a bottle of Dornish red was open and breathing on a counter.

“I think that should do it. Thank you, Pia. Tell Peck to take tomorrow off,” he said to the girl. Pia smiled at him.

“Congratulations, Mr Lannister. Me and Peck, we’re both very happy for you.”

Jaime beamed as he thanked her and she turned to leave—and spotted Brienne.

“Oh, hello! You must be Miss Brienne. I’m Pia.” The girl smiled so warmly that Brienne found herself responding in kind immediately.

“Just Brienne,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you. Congratulations on your engagement! I hope you enjoy dinner. Mr Lannister worked very hard.”

“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Pia,” Brienne replied, feeling dazed.

“Goodnight!” the younger woman chirped, and she disappeared down the hallway with a little wave. That left her alone with Jaime. She looked over at him and found him already watching her. There was a small, almost sheepish, smile on his lips as he gestured to the stove.

“I was supposed to be done by the time you got here,” he said.

“You told me we’d be having take-out.”

His little smile turned into a grin. “I didn’t think you’d catch me.”

He indicated that she should sit at the table, and Brienne wandered into the dining room. There was a vase full of fresh flowers and two very pretty place settings. And suddenly, it dawned on Brienne how truly date-like this whole situation was. But they were all alone. There was no one to keep up the pretense for, so why go to the effort?

She set down her overnight bag and sank into the dining room chair. The whole thing was starting to be confusing, and she clung to the thought that this was a dinner between friends like she was drowning. She couldn’t allow herself to mix up fiction with reality. It was too tempting. She was already so dangerously close to getting her heart broken…

He began bringing dishes over, and then he poured the wine and took his own seat. He looked perfectly pleased with himself—until he caught sight of her face.

“Brienne?”

“I’m not sure I can…do this,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. Her fingers plucked at her napkin and her foot was jiggling under the table.

“This?” he asked. There was a dangerous note in his voice. She recognized it from their previous fights.

“I’m not sure I can pretend to be your fiancée.”

“We made a deal, wench.”

Her eyes flew up to his. He looked angry, desperate…hurt? He was sitting very tall and still and he was staring at her hard, like he meant to bend her to his will. She felt some steel return to her spine in response to that look.

“No, we didn’t. I agreed to help you, but this—” she waved at the intimate dinner—“I just don’t know how to deal with this.”

“ _This_ ,” he snapped, “is just dinner.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Is it truly just dinner, Jaime?”

Suddenly the fire went out of his eyes. He seemed to shrink as he let out a long breath, and an impassive mask slipped over his features. He nodded and dropped his eyes to his plate.

“Yes, it’s truly just dinner. I’m your friend, Brienne. I would never try to mock you.”

“You mock me all the time.”

“Not like this. Not like Renly.”

Brienne went pale and her fingers tightened around her napkin. “That’s not fair,” she whispered. “Renly was kind—”

“Only to your face, Brienne.”

Tears sprung to her eyes. She knew he was right, but it still hurt. Years had passed, why did the wound still ache?

“Let’s just eat,” she mumbled, and he served them in silence. The next few minutes were deathly quiet as Brienne fought to compose herself. Jaime didn’t look at her, but he didn’t seem angry anymore, just resigned.

“You mentioned needing to work out details. That is, if you’re still willing to help,” he said at last.

“I’ll help. I promised,” Brienne said. He breathed out in apparent relief. “As for the details…when would we be getting married? And where?”

He finally looked at her, his green eyes contemplative. “Well, we could go anywhere. Where would you like to get married?”

“I always pictured…by the sea. Tarth, or Casterly Rock, it doesn’t matter,” she replied. He smiled a little. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was better than the blank mask he’d been wearing.

“You imagined your wedding? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“Well, just a little. No details. Just by the sea, with my father giving me away.”

“Nothing else? No dashing groom waiting with the septon? Someone tall, with dark hair and blue eyes?” he teased.

“No, I can never picture a groom,” she replied, feeling foolish as her cheeks heated under his curious gaze. The truth was, if she were to imagine her wedding right now, she had the uncomfortable feeling she’d picture Jaime as the one waiting at the end of the aisle. Clearly, she’d been reading too many romance novels. He watched her, trying to read the play of emotions on her face, and she looked down at her hands, embarrassed.

“Well, I suppose my father would insist on Casterly Rock. Is that amenable?” he asked, and she was grateful he hadn’t pushed the issue of her imaginary groom any further.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I’ll show you pictures. It’s beautiful, lots of sandy beaches that would suit perfectly,” he told her. “As for when…how long does it take to plan a wedding?”

“A wedding to a Lannister at Casterly Rock? Months, maybe. A year? Sansa would know more.”

“A year then.” He made a face. “It sounds too long.”

“You’re always so impatient,” she accused, a little exasperated.

He gave her a wolfish grin. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Debatable.”

It got quiet again as they finished their meal, but this time the silence was much more comfortable. The food was excellent and the wine was delicious. She was sad to decline when he offered to pour more.

“I’ve got to drive,” she said.

“You can stay here again. We’ll have to do that once in a while, too.” He wiggled the bottle at her. “Don’t make me finish it alone.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then held out her glass. His smile was annoyingly victorious, but she had to admit the wine was worth it.

“I do have something else I need to ask you,” he said as they both finished their second glasses. Warning bells went off in her brain. She eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

His mouth twisted a bit as he refilled their glasses. “No, not especially. It’s Cersei’s birthday. We’ve been invited, as a couple. Normally I’d just say no, but my father advised me that this would be a great way to show everyone there’s no ill will between us. You know what people think. And of course, Father also wants our family to be seen as long-time supporters when Robert makes his bid for party leadership before the next campaign.”

Brienne’s stomach sank to her knees. Just the thought of attending such an event, surrounded by rich, beautiful people, made her feel vaguely nauseous. Jaime watched her with gentle pleading in his eyes, and that made Brienne’s stomach sink further.

“Adults still have birthday parties?” she asked, trying for some levity. He gave her a half-smile that made his eyes crinkle and her heart clench.

“She likes to be the center of attention,” he replied, a little dryly. “Will you come with me?”

“Yes, alright. But I’m not getting her a gift.”

Jaime laughed and clinked his wine glass against hers. “Deal,” he agreed, and they drank.

* * *

Brienne woke up the next morning in, for the very first time in her life, a man’s embrace. Jaime’s arm was thrown over her waist and his long legs were tangled up with hers. His slow, even breaths were stirring the hair at the back of her neck. It was so warm…

Waking up next to him was better than she’d ever dared imagine, though she _had_ imagined it once or twice in her weaker moments. The feeling of comfort, of being _home_ , was undeniable, and she let her eyes slip closed again so she could enjoy it for as long as she could. Eventually, the need to pee drove her out of his arms, but as she carefully slipped out of the bed, she found herself wishing she could wake up that way every morning.

“I’m doomed,” she sighed as she washed her hands. Then she texted Sansa. She was going to need help finding a dress for Cersei’s party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a fully-grown adult's very unpleasant birthday party. And an inconvenient boner.


	7. Many Unhappy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t believe it until just now,” Tyrion commented, his voice light and his eyes also on Brienne’s retreating back. She stopped when she reached Sansa, Robb and Talisa, and all three Starks began to immediately pelt her with questions.
> 
> “Didn’t believe what?” Jaime asked as he watched them, his voice embarrassingly husky.
> 
> “Your romance. I thought it was some ploy, something you were doing to annoy Father or Cersei or both. But it’s hard to ignore the evidence of my own eyes.”
> 
> Jaime shot him a cold look. “Don’t mock. I’m lucky she’s in my life. I wish people would see that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is divided between Jaime and Brienne's POVs. I was trying to avoid that, but I wanted to capture both of them during the party. I think it worked out. Hope you enjoy!

**BRIENNE**

When the day of Cersei’s party arrived, Sansa came through in her usual, magnificent style. She’d swept into Jaime’s house like a firestorm, taking charge immediately and whisking her friend up to Jaime’s bedroom for privacy. After a fair amount of time on hair and makeup, Brienne found herself clad in beautiful, flowing blue fabric that moved around her like waves, with little suns and moons cascading down her side to sparkle along her hem. By the time Sansa was finished, Brienne hardly recognized herself in the mirror. The only issue was the shoes: they were three-inch tall heels.

“I’ll tower over Jaime,” she said to her friend. “I’m already taller than he is.”

Sansa put her hands on her hips and contemplated the problem, but a quiet knock came from the closed bedroom door.

“Just wear the heels if you like them, wench. I don’t mind looking up at you,” Jaime said from the other side. Sansa glanced at Brienne and grinned so knowingly that Brienne flushed without even knowing why.

“They’ll all have to look up at you. And you’ll be marvelous,” the redhead said.

“Thank you, Sansa. Truly.”

The younger girl went on her toes and brushed a kiss over her cheek. “Any time. I’ll see you at the party, alright? Robb and Talisa will be there too.”

Brienne nodded and Sansa took her leave, pausing to hand Jaime something just outside the door. After taking a deep breath and one last timid peek in the mirror, she followed her friend out of the room.

Jaime had already changed into a suit which looked as though it cost the same as a mid-ranged car. His golden locks had been swept back from his face with some product that smelled like heaven, and he’d trimmed his facial hair. The remaining scruff made him look wickedly handsome. Sansa had handed him a new tie, and he was just attempting to knot it as she stepped out. The old one was hanging over his shoulder, but the new one matched her dress and had been embroidered with the same suns and moons that were scattered down her side. Looking at him sent a wave of heat through her, flashing down her limbs like lightning but lingering low in her belly.

Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one staring. His eyes roamed over her, all the way up to her now 6’6”, and he looked utterly astounded. For a second, neither of them could move, and something flickered across his eyes that seemed almost— _hungry_. A shiver ran down her spine.

“My lady,” he said in a low voice. “I find I need help knotting this tie.”

She stepped forward, relieved to see that her fingers were steady as they deftly completed their task. He watched her face the whole time, his eyes roaming over her as if he was seeing her anew. Then, when his tie was sorted and the reject replaced in the closet, he offered her his arm. She took it, feeling her heart pound. She’d never been to any school dances or wedding receptions, but this made up for all of that, and she wished she could tell her sixteen-year-old self to be patient, because this moment was coming and it was perfect.

That happy glow, that sensation of feeling, if not beautiful, at least worth looking at, lasted until they arrived at the party. Golden balloons lined the walkway up to Robert Baratheon’s mansion, and fairy lights glittered in the manicured hedges and hung from the trees. People were greeting each other as they headed toward the door, but it wasn’t just guests: photographers were waiting, too. Cersei was betrothed to a famous ex-athlete and up-and-coming politician, and as a result the guest list was packed with big names. A wave of panic washed over Brienne; she hadn’t known to expect this as soon as they arrived. Jaime glanced at her and seemed to understand her distress without being told.

He spoke softly. “It’s just a few yards. A couple of pictures and it’s over.”

She nodded. “They’ll have better people to take pictures of, anyway,” she observed, more to herself than to him. He gave her a disbelieving smile.

“I doubt it,” he said, then he climbed out of the car and came around to hand her out. As she emerged, he leaned into her. “Let’s head into the lion’s den, shall we?” Then, clasping her hand firmly, he led her toward the door. Cameras flashed and people called Jaime’s name, but he only smiled and drew Brienne into his side. He managed to move them toward the door without making it look like they were trying to avoid the cameras, and when they stepped inside Brienne let out a breath of relief. It hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared.

The inside of the house looked like a hunting lodge. It was so at odds with the cool, modern exterior of the home that she almost missed a step, and Jaime glanced at her in amusement.

“They’ve certainly latched onto a theme, haven’t they?” he murmured, as mischievous as a boy. Brienne tried to cover her smile with a hand.

“Yes, that’s exactly what they’ve done,” she agreed, running her eyes over the myriad of stag’s antlers protruding from the walls. He drew her into the a much larger room, chuckling a little at the overblown décor. Clearly, the Baratheon estate lacked a woman’s touch.

Brienne kept hold of Jaime’s hand as they stepped into the party. There were faces there she only recognized from television, a heady mix of politicians, athletes, models and actors. Renly, Loras and Margaery were with Ned and Catelyn Stark. The older couple looked staid and dour in spite of the festive atmosphere, perhaps because Petyr Baelish was moving through the crowd not far from them, stopping to make a quip here or dropping a whisper there. And, luminous and beautiful, Daenerys Targaryen drew guests to her like flies to honey. Jorah Mormont was with her and Drogo loomed over both of them.

“Isn’t that a famous rugby player?” Brienne asked, gesturing discreetly to Drogo. Jaime nodded, unsurprised.

“Jorah’s his coach. And Illyrio there owns the team,” he told her, pointing out an enormous man dressed in silk. “Drogo’s taken a shine to that Targaryen girl, but she’s had her eye on someone else if my brother is to be believed.”

Brienne started to ask another question, but at that moment she caught sight of Cersei. There was no denying the woman’s beauty, and tonight she seemed almost otherworldly—golden curls shimmered in the light, and a satiny red dress emphasized every curve of her as though it had been painted on. Emeralds the color of her eyes dangled from her neck. A wave of envy and despair crashed over Brienne as she took the other woman in. _This_ was Jaime’s ex, the one he’d loved so much that he’d nearly lost everything for her. She felt like she might cry, or hit someone. It was hard to tell which impulse was stronger.

“Are you alright?” Jaime asked her softly. “You’re pale.”

“Fine,” she mumbled. She was not fine at all, but she could get through this. With courage she didn’t truly feel, she marched toward their hostess. Even before she got there, a cruel smirk was curling Cersei’s perfect lips, but Brienne didn’t falter.

“Happy birthday. Thank you for inviting us.”

One manicured eyebrow lifted. “I don’t remember inviting circus freaks.”

Jaime was there all of a sudden, grasping Brienne’s elbow in an iron grip and gazing at Cersei in cold fury. “You’ll keep a civil tongue when you speak to my fiancée,” he snapped. Cersei only smiled at him, almost purring.

“But you certainly don’t have a civil tongue, Jaime…especially not when it’s in between my thighs. I miss it—don’t you?”

“This was a mistake. Rot in hell, Cersei,” he said, the words savage and low. He pulled Brienne away, and as they moved back into the crowd she could see how tightly his jaw was clenched.

“I’m sorry. We never should have come,” he said to her, glancing back to where Cersei was still watching them with a victorious smile on her face.

“Oh, _fuck her_ ,” Brienne said. She grabbed his face and kissed him for all she was worth.

* * *

**JAIME**

Jaime had never been kissed by someone taller than him before, and previously he would have assumed it would feel emasculating or awkward. He would have been wrong, because kissing Brienne was fire—a sweet burning that he would gladly have endured for the rest of his days.

Her lips were soft and they trembled a little as his tongue slid over them. As they sank deeper into the kiss, he cupped the back of her neck with his good hand and anchored her to against him, then pulled her flush against his body with his right arm. She gasped a little as he did, and his tongue slid into the sweet cavern of her mouth. Gods, how had they never done this before? Why didn’t they spend all their time like this, tasting and exploring each other?

His body reacted instantly, instinctively, as their kiss went on, and the feel of her glorious, endless thigh shifting against his erection made him groan up into her mouth. The needy whimper he received in return nearly made him drag her into an empty room so he could press her against the wall and—

She broke away for a gasp of air, leaving Jaime feeling as though gravity had shifted right underneath his feet. He sucked in a deep breath, straining to regain control. He couldn’t just take her against a wall, not the first time. He couldn’t take her at all, he remembered with a pang, until she knew his feelings were real and he was sure it was what she truly wanted. But one look at her swollen lips and wide dark eyes was nearly enough to make him forget his noble intentions all over again.

“Gods, Brienne,” he breathed, but she let him go and stepped back.

“I think she saw that,” she said, and he knew she meant Cersei.

“Yeah, I think everyone saw that,” he replied dryly, trying to adjust his clothing so they wouldn’t all notice something _else_.

“Good. I’m going to say hello to the Starks.” Satisfied, Brienne nodded and strode away from him. And Jaime just stood there, feeling half-smug and half a fool, watching her walk away so intently that he didn’t notice when his brother joined him.

“I didn’t believe it until just now,” Tyrion commented, his voice light and his eyes also on Brienne’s retreating back. She stopped when she reached Sansa, Robb and Talisa, and all three Starks began to immediately pelt her with questions.

“Didn’t believe what?” Jaime asked as he watched them, his voice embarrassingly husky.

“Your romance. I thought it was some ploy, something you were doing to annoy Father or Cersei or both. But it’s hard to ignore the evidence of my own eyes.”

Jaime shot him a cold look. “Don’t mock. I’m lucky she’s in my life. I wish people would _see_ that.”

Tyrion turned his gaze to his brother’s face, studying him for a moment. Whatever he saw on Jaime’s face made him nod thoughtfully. “I see it,” he said. “In that case, I’m happy you found her.”

“Has Varys heard anything about the attack?”

“Oh, a few whispers. Nothing we can use as proof. But he agrees with your suspicions. Cersei never did like being made to share.”

“Brienne says she broke the wrist of one of her attackers.”

“If she did, they didn’t go to a hospital.” Tyrion patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Varys will find something.”

“I know. Thank you,” he said.

“Now, shall we join your lady?” Tyrion led the way to Brienne and the Starks just as Margaery Tyrell drifted over as well. Jaime glanced at his brother, wondering if he’d noticed her heading that way before, but Tyrion’s face was inscrutable. That was probably an answer in itself. Really, it wasn’t so surprising: Margaery was a lovely woman, but she also had thorns sharp enough to keep Tyrion interested. Jaime wished him luck in his pursuit; he was far from her only potential suitor. He took his place at Brienne’s side and gave everyone a polite nod.

“My grandmother is very upset with you, you know,” Margaery said to him.

“Who isn’t?” he replied, and Brienne nudged his arm. It was probably a reminder to be polite, but he had not intention of doing so and therefore ignored it.

“I think she had grand plans for us.” Margaery’s laugh sparkled. “She hates it when she’s outmaneuvered.”

Jaime gave her a wan smile and curled his arm around Brienne’s waist. “We can’t help who we love,” he said, his tone amiable but firm.

She examined him, that clever smile still curling her lips up despite the closeness of her scrutiny. Then she broke their gaze.

“What a romantic sentiment! I’m happy you’ve found your love. To Jaime and Brienne,” she said, toasting them with her glass of champagne. Then she looked to Tyrion. “I think you’re the sensible Lannister anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he replied with a charming grin.

“All this talk of love is good for business,” Sansa said, “but it’s making me a little jealous.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re going to be crazy Aunt Sansan,” Robb replied with a wicked grin. He dodged her smack and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Your happiness will come, I’m sure.”

“Sooner than you think,” Brienne promised her. “You’re smart, successful and lovely. That’s a combination that’s hard to ignore.”

“Yes,” Jaime agreed, but his eyes were on Brienne, not Sansa. “It truly is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sansa wants Brienne's help planning a Sevenmas party. Arya overhears something that gives her the wrong idea.


End file.
